


Mr. and Mrs. Draper (the things unmarried women put up with)

by Leseparatist



Category: Mad Men
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-15
Updated: 2011-09-15
Packaged: 2017-10-23 18:46:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/253699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leseparatist/pseuds/Leseparatist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She had been a model, after all. She knows about the things unmarried women put up with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mr. and Mrs. Draper (the things unmarried women put up with)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [girlupnorth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlupnorth/gifts).



> Warnings: Explicit sex, possibly angst. This is about 90% porn with only a little by the way of plot. There's some (light) BDSM.

The car is expensive.

Shiny, and new, and prettier than what other women have; just as she is prettier, and her husband more handsome and ambitious. She recognized it back when he bought the fur for her: when he asked her out and demanded that she reconsider her initial rejection. Donald Draper wasn’t used to getting what he wanted back then, but he was working on developing the habit, and she basked in how much he wanted her.

They take the car for a drive: there’s still some time before the children come back. Don drives the Cadillac around at first, so that they’re seen by the neighbourhood, and then he takes a turn out of the suburbs, showing her how it takes to the open road. There are hardly any cars there; Betty remains silent by his side. She feels a little flushed; almost unconsciously she puts her hand on Don’s thigh, and then moves it up slowly; he draws in a breath and glares at her.

“I’m driving, Bets.”

She smiles widely, not at all put off by his stern face; she feels herself blush a little more and, never removing her hand, says,

“I really do love this car. The speed is so exciting!”

He drives off the main road into the forest where he stops the engine; it’s warm and the air smells like pine trees when he opens the door on his side, all the while remaining in his seat.

“You’ll get us into an accident, Betty,” he starts, but she wastes no more time, working his buckle and fly open already, and then stroking him through the fabric of his briefs. He gets hard quickly under the touch of her fingers; that brings a triumphant smile to her face.

She’s thought about this a couple of times; she had been a model, after all, she knows about the things some unmarried women put up with.

She is curious; at once disgusted and turned on by the concept. She has never been great at verbalizing and facing her concerns, but she has practice at pretending to be unaware of the implications of her actions.

Don is tense in his seat, and probably unhappy that she stopped the dressing down he was preparing to give her; she doesn’t wait for him to start telling her off again. She leans down until her face is inches away from his lap; she hesitates for a moment, her hair hiding her face from sight, and then she leans even closer and kisses him through the material.

“Bets,” he says in a tone of warning, but curiosity gets the better of her. She tugs down his briefs and presses her mouth against his erection. “Bets,” he repeats, his voice lower now, and she never liked that name, she is Betty, or even Mrs. Draper, but not ‘Bets’, so she licks him slowly and carefully, her tongue flat and wide, before opening her mouth even wider and taking him in, in lieu of protesting the nickname.

He gasps and buckles ever so slightly, but raises no more protests. She feels awkward, leaning down over him in the cramped space of the car, not really sure whether she’s getting this right; she takes him in deeper, slowly and carefully; out of the corner of her eye she can see fingers of his right hand clutching onto the seat, and that sight makes her tingly between her legs, her own need matched for once.

His other hand lands on her nape and then tangles in her hair, and for a second she is sure that he will pull her away, but even if that was his intention, he never follows through: instead he yanks her slightly closer, and then guides her up, establishing a rhythm.

She moves her head in the way he shows her, while the grasp of his fingers borders on painful, and she thinks this is not how he is like with [i]her[/i]: but she likes him this way, on edge and commanding, taking from her. She speeds up, and his breath hitches again; she gasps too, the tingling between her legs stronger now. Don rocks his hips slightly and moves to push her away, but she suspected he would, he always did in her fantasies, and she doesn’t let him. He comes deep in her mouth, and the taste of him is unfamiliar and not at all pleasant as she raises her head, but she has no regrets, she feels victorious.

Spitting is unladylike, and the car is new besides. She swallows and uses a handkerchief to wipe her mouth. Her breathing is a little laboured, and her heart races; she can feel her pulse right down between her legs. She looks sideways at Don, whose eyes are open wide; his pupils are large and dark, and he is a little flushed, too. He looks back at her, his mouth again a hard line, before tucking himself in and rearranging his pants and belt.

“Don,” she says, quietly, but then he turns and kisses her on the mouth, thoroughly, roughly; she feels his stubble on her cheek, he was always a five-o’clock shadow atnoon man. She finds that attractive, too.

He spreads her knees wide, and then slips a hand under her skirt and petticoat, gliding it up her thigh, reaching the hem of her stocking, and then stroking her through her panties.

“Mrs. Draper,” he says, right into her ear, “what was that about?”

His fingers finally dive under her underwear; he must feel how wet she is. He strokes her slowly for a moment, and it is her turn to clutch onto the car seat when his thumb finds the spot.

“Yes… please,” she whispers, and he presses harder, his fingers moving in and out of her , his thumb drawing small circles until she tenses and cries out softly. He continues to touch her until it becomes painful and she pushes his hand away.

The ride back is a silent and peaceful affair; Betty smokes her cigarette and lets him take a drag once every while. He doesn’t sound as stern as he would probably have liked when he tells her that she should never distract him while he is driving. She doesn’t ask him about the women with whom he must have done this before.

Betty is still blushing when they get home late.

*~*

A part of her hates this desire she has for him: this never-ending fire that burns her from the inside, leaving her in embers and ashes, powerless in mind and body. Hunger might make men stronger, but for a woman it has no use: her power lies in denying and never in taking.

She doesn’t have it in herself to deny him; she doesn’t make up headaches, nor does she pretend to fall asleep before he joins her in bed. She craves him, constantly. She wants everything, and it is him controlling himself, giving out spoonfuls of attention, keeping guard of his emotions. Even when he loses his patience his lashing out remains cold and never directed at her; he punishes her by refusing to listen, by turning away, by demanding that she exercise restraint.

The swimming suit is anything but restrained; he hates seeing her in it as much as he loves it, and she would have bought it for this reason alone (she likes not being the only confused one).

The children have left with the maid already, and Don should be on his way to work soon as well. She goes back to the bedroom to get her purse, and he follows her upstairs.

“You are going to change into something appropriate,” he says, opening her wardrobe and throwing an armful of her dresses onto the floor.

“Don’t speak to me like I’m a little girl,” she says, shoving him. He grabs her arm and spins her around before smacking her on the ass.

“Then stop acting like one,” he says. His hand remains on her buttock; he pinches her lightly and she gasps and straightens her back.

“Do it again,” she says quietly, turning just her head to face him. He is standing right behind her now, his left hand on the crook of her elbow. He pinches her.

“The other thing,” she whispers, leaning back to press herself against his palm. He strokes her slowly, drawing small gasps from her, and then he raises his arm and strikes her.

Blood rushes down between her legs and to the place where he hit her; his left hand travels upwards to stroke her breast through her yellow bra, and she moans quietly and pushes against his hand again, rubbing herself against his trousers. His breath is hot on her neck, and she can feel that he is hard, enjoying this as much as she is.

“Donald Draper,” she says. “I think you do like seeing me in this suit.”

“Think twice,” he replies, tugging the lower half down her legs. She steps out of it and then takes his hand and places it on her lower back. He slides it down and smacks her again, drawing another moan from her.

“Is this what you want, Betty?” he asks, his voice slightly hoarse now. She takes two steps in the direction of the bed and lies down on her stomach. She would swear she can feel his eyes never leaving her, by now probably reddened, bottom.

“Please,” she replies, her breath coming in shallow gasps now. He follows her to the edge of the bed and runs his right hand down her back, starting at her nape and ending right between her buttocks, teasing her with just a ghost of pressure before reaching lower and deeper to slide a finger between her legs. “Not yet,” she asks, and he strokes her ass again, with a little bit more strength, almost impatiently.

“You make me so angry, Betty,” he tells her. “Acting like you do not understand what I ask of you and why.”

She doubts his anger matches hers, but keeps the thought to herself.

“Please,” she repeats, and finally he hits her again. “Please.” His hand falls down time and again, on her bottom and upper thighs, and she gets wetter with each blow, her arousal brightened and strengthened by the pain. “God, Don.”

She turns around and sits up, finally. Don is breathing shallowly now, his hair in disarray. She smiles up at him and reaches to his belt, unbuckling it, then fumbling with the zip. He unbuttons his shirt and takes off both it and his undershirt.

“Was this to your satisfaction, Mrs. Draper?” he asks, stepping out of his trousers and boxers. She reaches out with her hand and nods her head. “God, you’re beautiful,” he adds, as though to himself.

She smiles briefly.

“Come here, Don,” she says, spreading her legs wide. He enters her in one long stroke, and they both gasp.

The linens feel uncomfortable against her now tender skin, but she doesn’t mind; his weight on top of her grounds her pleasantly. He fucks her hard and fast, her quiet moans quickly becoming louder and closer apart. She missed him forgetting to be gentle, clinging onto her like it’s all he can do. Seeing him want her so much takes her breath away.

Of all the pain he ever caused her, she loved this. He comes first, saying her name, and she right after him, his hand between her legs.

The next night he strokes and kisses the bruises on her upper thighs and buttocks before making love to her, slowly and quietly, his hands caressing her breasts and stomach. They kiss for a long while afterwards, breathless and sated, and she falls asleep held by him.

She wakes up in the middle of the night and turns around to face him. “I want it all, not some of it,” she murmurs to him, careful not to disturb his sleep. Moonlight falls on his face and he looks younger and calmer like this. He throws his arm around her, never waking up.

~*~

The first time it happens, they’ve drunk a little before retiring to the bedroom. His fingerprints are still visible on the back of her thighs and on her buttocks: Betty would almost suspect him of bruising her purposefully to make wearing a swimming suit impossible for her, if not for the desire and pleasure they experience whenever they participate in that game.

Don lies behind her and traces patterns on her backside; soon her breathing is quickened and shallow, as he lays kisses on her nape. She can feel him against her, and she lies closer to him, so that his erection is pressed against her buttocks; he buckles at the contact, and the friction sends shivers right down to her toes. She takes his hand and places it over her nightshirt-clad breast. He strokes her for a while, his finger and thumb circling her nipple, until she gasps and rocks her hips.

“Impatient,” he says quietly, his hand trailing lower to caress her right below the navel. Betty moves to turn around to face him, but he holds her down. “Wait,” he adds.

His hand returns to stroking her buttocks, slowly and delicately, before diving between her thighs to stroke her there. She clenches and unclenches as he enters her with two fingers and caresses her inside for a moment. She doesn’t have enough time to get used to his rhythm before he takes them out and lies back, encouraging her to climb on top of him. She places her knees on either side of his hips and guides him inside.

She loves the first moment, when she is still stretching to accommodate him, when she feels so full and sated for a moment. Don’s hand rises to rest on her hip, and she leans down to kiss him.

Their lovemaking is slow and quiet, both of them more than a little tired and slightly tipsy. Only once Don reaches between her legs to touch her with his hand does she quicken the movement of her hips. He gasps and matches her rhythm, simultaneously removing his fingers. Before she can protest the loss of contact, he puts the hand on her ass.

“Oh,” she gasps, surprised and a little anxious.

“You’re going to like it,” he promises, stroking her up and down the cleft between her buttocks.

She keeps on rocking her hips as he slides a finger inside her. It’s different than what she feels when he penetrates her from the front, but unmistakably pleasant; she buckles this time, and barely stops a moan from escaping her lips.

He hardly moves his hand at all, the pressure itself providing enough stimulation so that she comes quickly, clutching onto him; he follows her right after, his hips rising to meet hers.

~*~

Betty does like it; she likes it enough to get impatient when over the next weeks Don shows no more interest in touching her there. Finally, it is her who places his hand on her buttocks.

“What do you want, Betty?” he asks her in a low voice. She tugs at his hand again, but he shakes his head. “Tell me.”

She can feel herself blushing; he never moves his hand.

“I want you to touch me inside,” she says, and in response he slowly strokes her up and down. Her breath catches. “Inside me [i]there[/i],” she adds, and he presses on her opening delicately, his fingers wet from when he was touching her earlier. “I want your fingers inside me,” she says, before finally adding, “up my ass,” very quietly.

She gasps when he slides the first one in and strokes her inside. He is spooning behind her, and his breath is hot on her neck, his erection poking at her lower back as he fucks her with first one, and then two fingers. “I knew you’d enjoy it,” he whispers in her ear as she gets close, her own fingers near his between her legs now. “I’ve thought you would ever since you liked being smacked so much.” The memory is bright in her mind, and she comes for a long while, biting her lip to stop herself from making noise.

Betty stays in his arms awhile before turning to face him. A little sore and sleepy, she strokes him to completion with her hand, his face hidden in the nook of her neck. She thinks about how he does know her: he could always tell things about her, ever since he first saw her regret giving up that fur. She doesn’t know as much as his father’s name, despite the two children they have and the life they share. What she does know is - better than to ask.

She does want more than his fingers some weeks later; the first time it hurts a little, though less than she expected. The pain is as different as the pleasure that follows, but it makes her think of their first night together, and she cries after coming, because she longs for a beginning, a milestone on which she could date the turn of their relationship. It is different already, and she would prefer to pinpoint the change. She scares Don into thinking he hurt her; for once he is oblivious.

Betty becomes pregnant a few weeks later. Donald looks at her quizzically when she suggests Richard among possible baby names. He says anything’s better than Eugene. She does not find that amusing at all.


End file.
